Hypothetical
by OakwoodOuroboros
Summary: How the hunters become prey, to end up in a state of existence above both. Part 3 of Our Condemned Selves series of one-shots.


**I've had this idea coming back to me over and over, and I thought I might as well get this story out and have done with it. It's possible that some other people might have taken the same idea, but I assure you that I have never read a single Tokyo Ghoul fanfic and have only watched the first season. I can't even remember it that well.**

 **Keep in mind that I really, really like fics with characters who are of different origins and ethnicities than the ones in the original series, and how these would tie in with the universe. Just, please tell me if I come off as offensive, I would like to know if that is so.**

 **Also! If there is a character called Izumi in the original series, I'm sorry to have nicked their name. It's just that I quite like it and hey, Tokyo Ghoul is so close to Parasite anyway that I don't have any regrets adding the name of the main character of that particular series to this one, so yeah… Go Parasite!**

 **Soundtrack for this fic: Silence.**

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It was ten o'clock when I finally got to lock up the business. The mourning family had taken their time in sending their deceased daughter off to the afterlife, and had wanted to keep the corpse close for a little while longer before its departure to the room where it would be burned into nothing more than a pile of ash, to be brought back home in a cement jar and kept on the mantelpiece for far longer than it was probably meant to.

Or that's what they think, anyway.

I looked through the glass doors of my business, watching the passing headlights of a rare car through the softly-falling snow. It really was a beautiful night; way too cold, of course, but more beautiful than anything that I could have witnessed had I not left. If that hadn't been the case, I would have had nothing as spell-binding as these snow-whitened peaks and lush green forests for miles around to observe.

I turned back and made my way down the corridor. It was as I passed the door to the room where the last family had been mourning, the place where the flower-covered casket had been sitting, that I saw the ray of light circling the door, and the slight chill that raised the hair on my forearms. I was puzzled, seeing as I was certain that I had switched all the lights off, but I went through anyway.

The bay windows, which overlooked a cliff at the bottom of which an ice-encrusted river gently flowed, were wide open and let in the freezing night air. I didn't have to look long to find the culprit: Izumi was leaning against the metal railing, two mugs balancing precariously on the thin piece of metal. Steam was curling above both of them, and even from this distance I could smell the strong aroma of coffee.

"You shouldn't lean against it like that, it might break, and I'm sure that even you won't survive a fall from that height."

Izumi snorted at my comment, picking up his cup and taking a sip.

"I would, don't worry. Want a coffee?"

I was puzzled; Izumi isn't usually the kind of person who enjoyed company of any kind, preferring to spend time alone home or in his "meat-locker", as he called it. But I wouldn't turn down a chance to get better acquainted with him, so I walked over and took my own mug. The ceramic chased away the chill which had been numbing my fingers, and a single sip was enough to rush my stomach with warmth.

"This is spiked," I said, frowning down at my mug.

He took another before answering, raven hair fluffed by the wind. "Yeah, thought you might be hungry after such a long day. A snack, if you like."

I shrugged and took another sip. It was nice.

The stars were bright, but sometimes covered by the milky clouds cut by the tips of far-off mountains. It was dark, seeing as the moon was almost finished waning, but I could pick out every single scratch in the nearby rock nonetheless.

"You're lucky," said Izumi. He wasn't looking at me, his gaze lost somewhere in the distance. Or maybe in time. I couldn't tell. "There are so few Black ghouls out there, nobody suspects you when you set up this place. An Asian kid like me would never stand a chance."

There was a silence, and I sipped slowly at my coffee, my eyes still on his face. They were glazed over, and maybe a little tearful. It was strange to see him like that; he was usually very strong.

"Thank you."

If I hadn't swallowed my mouthful before, I would have probably spat it out or choked on it then. Instead, I just stared at him blankly, and he turned his gaze to meet mine. There was something there, maybe was it regret at having opened himself up like that, something that I knew he would never do under normal circumstances. But I knew what he meant. He didn't need to clarify. There was only one thing that he could be thankful enough for to call for verbal expression.

"It's nothing. I wouldn't be able to work properly with a mad binger running the streets. It could've given me away eventually."

Silence again. He understood. I sipped at my now cold drink, staring up at the stars for a while longer. But something was irritating me. That comment was as whiny and childish as what could be expected from him, but it still hurt. Not in the moment, no. It was more like a mosquito bite, something that you don't feel at first, but then dawns on you slowly, and that you just _have_ to scratch after a while (not that I've ever experienced being bitten by a mosquito. I've read testimonies, though).

"Izumi…" I started again, and he turned his world-weary eyes to meet mine.

"…no matter what kind of ghoul you are, it doesn't make much of a difference."

He looked at me again, with maybe what could possibly be a spark of interest in the depth of his gaze. I smiled at him, a cool smile, with sadness that I could feel etched into every line of my face.

"Congo doesn't have many ghouls, but there are some. They're not hunted down, but when one person, even if they're human, is thought to be a ghoul, they are captured, and depending on where they are in the country, end up in the government's hands or, more rarely, a witch-doctor's. Either try to keep their ghoul alive for as long as possible, mainly for blood and organ harvesting, both for study and ritualistic purposes."

He had not lost his composure, but he had paled considerably. He swallowed with difficulty.

"Organ harvesting? How would they get past the skin?" he asked. I was cut a little short by the question, but I decided on lifting the bottom of my shirt and showing him the long scar that traced an ugly line from the top of my pelvis to stop somewhere halfway up my ribs.

I have to admit, I was testing him. He was looking at me for now, but I wondered if he would be able to resist being as morbidly curious as I knew he was, and catching a glimpse of his boss's past.

And I was right. His eyes stopped on the jagged scar tissue for a second longer than necessary, before quickly jumping back to my face. I hadn't stopped smiling.

"Diamond-edged circular saw. Nasty business, I can assure you,"

It is quite amusing to see him this shocked. It isn't this often that I see any emotion on that face of his, apart from boredom, that is.

"It isn't impossible to escape, though. People still don't know much about ghouls, so they sometimes break free after a few years of gnawing at metal bars or whatever keeps them from getting away. Then, they would escape the country in which they would now have their faces known on every street corner. They would head North, because that is where English has the greatest chances of being spoken, if they came from an English-speaking country in the first place. They would have problems getting food, would get into scuffles with other resident ghouls, whilst also keeping on the move. And for years, they would drift from country to country, and at one point, they would decide to leave Africa completely."

"A ghoul could then take the long path through the Middle-East, through the desert, aiming to get to Europe, when they heard that few other ghouls lived there. And on the way, they would form a plan."

"Indeed, Black ghouls are not common, so their charade would be covered. They would be able to spin a lie that would keep them warm and fed, and guarantee an effortlessly comfortable lifestyle. Other ghouls would be more likely to live in the Mediterranean and cities, simply for the heat and companionship. No, the best place would be the far Northern countries, where the authorities are lax and crime rates are low."

"They would go through the Eastern European countries, sneaking past borders, and after many, many years, would at last get to their chosen destination. The perfect spot. Away from big cities, their authorities, but with enough people around to work their trade."

"The first few months would be tough, but it would keep them fed. After a while, they would have a booming business, and need a helping hand. But of course, no human would do. Then, rumours would start coming back to them of a binge-eater wreaking havoc in the capital. They would go over there, disguise their scent with one of a human, would walk the darkest alleyways at night on purpose, and strike a deal with their starved, would-be murderer, who would work for them and live down in the valley in the closest town with his newly-found human boyfriend. But that, of course, is hypothetical."

A persistent, hacking cough startled me a little, and I wondered whether the dregs of coffee that Izumi had just swallowed went down the wrong way, but after a few seconds, I realised that he was laughing.

"Indeed, such a thing is fairy-tale worthy," he managed to spit out after a few more minutes of his weird cough-laugh.

I smiled again, and finishing my coffee myself, I felt a warmth in my gut that had nothing to do with the added flavour to the drink.

"Yes, indeed. A purely hypothetical one."

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 **The main character is supposed to be female, but seeing as she came out gender-neutral, you can picture her any way you like.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this little one-shot! Have a good day!**


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